


Sublimate

by Trobadora



Series: Miracle [3]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-12
Updated: 2010-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>For once, the Doctor is completely in the here and now, grounded by Jack's fingers, Jack's mouth.</i> - This follows straight from "Intent".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sublimate

There's a pinkish glow at the horizon when they finally leave the pub. Jack slings an arm around the Doctor's shoulder without thinking. The closeness feels natural now. Still, though - are the rules different out here? He has to wonder only for a moment: The Doctor returns the gesture.

Arm in arm they walk down the deserted street. There is no crisis, no threat, no running. It's almost surreal.

It's almost unbearably intimate.

Jack can tell the nervous energy beneath the Doctor's skin hasn't dissipated; a part of the Time Lord is still poised to run. But instead he tightens his arm around Jack, holding on.

Jack very deliberately doesn't let himself wonder how long that will last.

"TARDIS?" the Doctor asks quietly.

Jack shakes his head. "Hub. We were out late chasing a bunch of Keletri, and I told everyone to take the morning off. Someone needs to be in."

"Keletri?"

"Took care of them." If he's short, well, he has reason. The last thing he wants right now is to spoil the mood with the Doctor's special brand of disapproval.

"Right," the Doctor mutters distractedly. No protest, no snide remark. His voice is light as he asks, "No pretty boy or girl waiting for you, then?" Maybe he's reluctant to break the mood too.

Something in Jack's chest tightens. He smiles at him. "Not tonight, no."

Ianto and he are still feeling things out. And while he's not opposed to the two of them meeting - all kinds of interesting and improbable scenarios flutter across his mind at the thought - Ianto will probably need a great deal of reassurance before he can take that in stride.

Twenty-first century sexual mores are simply _tiresome_.

Love isn't such a small thing; it doesn't need to be rationed.

There are better things to think about now, though: the Doctor's arm around him, the Doctor's body moving in perfect synch with his. The fact that they're both, finally, here: on the same page.

He has no idea why, but they are.

~*~

They enter the Hub from the Plass, standing close on the slab of concrete as it sinks down. Jack gives in to temptation then and brushes a kiss against the Doctor's cheek.

The Doctor looks annoyed for a second, then he pulls Jack's head down and presses their lips together. A cool, insistent tongue finds its way into Jack's mouth, making itself at home, taking thorough possession.

When the Doctor finally lets him come up for air, he's almost dizzy with the rush. Weak in the knees like a schoolboy from his first kiss. The Doctor, not the slightest bit out of breath thanks to his unique respiratory system, is bouncing on his feet, clearly satisfied with this result. Smug bastard.

He pulls Jack off the lift and into the Hub. Jack had barely even noticed they'd arrived.

"Come on, then!" The Doctor looks around excitedly. "Which way?"

Jack leads the Doctor to his office, opens the manhole and makes an extravagant gesture of invitation.

The Doctor throws him something half-way between an exasperated glance and a smirk. "This is supposed to be suggestive, is it?"

Jack laughs.

Down they go. Jack is acutely aware that this isn't much of a place to bring a lover, but the Doctor seems oblivious, looking around the small space with superficial, unconcerned curiosity.

"Well ..." He turns, rubs the back of his neck, gives Jack a slightly petulant look. It's surprisingly endearing.

Jack takes off his coat, throws it over the back of an armchair and steps right into the Doctor's space again. Slowly they reach out. It's not hesitation; it's not a lack of urgency; it's the sheer pleasure of the moment itself.

Their clothes land in an untidy tangle on the floor.

For a moment, they simply stand there, looking at each other. Jack pulls the Doctor into a kiss. Still gentle, still very chaste. He's in no hurry here; he wants to savour every last second.

The Doctor makes an irritated noise, half hum, half snort, and Jack finds himself with his back against the wall, the Doctor's body pressed against him, skin on skin, a hard thigh between his legs and the Doctor's tongue plundering his mouth. Again.

For a moment, he goes with the flow. Then, very deliberately, he takes control of the kiss, slowing down, down. By the time his lips part from the Doctor's the kiss is almost achingly sweet, a world away from the ferocious invasion it started as.

"Jack." The Doctor's pupils are dilated, and he's exploding the "k" with thorough irritation.

"Patience is a virtue."

The Doctor snorts. "Read that in a fortune cookie, did you?"

Jack guides him to the bed, and with a huff, the Doctor lies down. For a moment, Jack simply lets himself look. The Doctor seems as human without his clothes as he does with them, which means _very_ \- unless you look into his eyes.

The Doctor twitches, then glares at him.

This man - this powerful alien, this mystery wrapped in an enigma he's loved for nearly as long as he can remember, this force of nature who'd stormed into the Hub only days ago, ravishing Jack with singular intent - here, now, naked and laid out on Jack's bed, he seems almost shy.

Jack grins. It's incredibly cute.

He crawls over the Doctor, brushes a hand through the smattering of hair on his chest, over nipples that perk up at his touch. Unable to resist, he sucks a nipple into his mouth for a moment. There's a taste to the Doctor's skin Jack can't properly identify; something deep and complex and utterly him. Jack caresses the Doctor's collarbones with his thumbs, trails his hands down his sides, then up again. He knows the Doctor's core body temperature is much lower, but his skin is only a little cool, and it responds to Jack's touch just the same.

He walks his fingers down the Doctor's ribs - one pair more than a human's, not that you'd notice it without counting. The Doctor has a navel, too. Jack briefly dips his tongue into it, earning a surprised snort. His hips are narrow and bony, and Jack places a kiss on each prominent hipbone. His cock, half-hard already, looks no different from a human's either, right down to the foreskin. Jack smiles and plays with it for a moment. The Doctor hisses and arches his back, spreading his legs a little more, digging his fingernails into Jack's shoulders.

Jack trails kisses on the insides of the Doctor's thighs, slowly, slowly. For now, the Doctor is allowing this unhurried, careful exploration, and he intends to make the most of it.

He has a very long list, compiled over a very long time, of things he wants to do to and with the Time Lord.

"Jack." The irritated, half-bitten-off "k" again.

"Mmm?" He flutters his eyes at the Doctor, his most obnoxiously fake innocent look.

The sound the Doctor makes is almost a growl. Strong hands grip Jack, pull him up by the armpits, roll him onto his back. The Doctor smirks down at him.

Superior Time Lord strength - oh yeah, Jack can work with that. He moans shamelessly as the Doctor mouthes his neck, bites his earlobe, grinds down on him.

The Doctor takes thorough advantage of their new position. Jack is holding on for dear life. He strokes his hands down the Doctor's back, then up again. Reaches for his hands, tries to still them, to calm them down.

Slow, slow -

"Jack." The Doctor finally pauses his onslaught, drumming his fingers on Jack's shoulder, glaring. "No need to rush things, all right. Also no need to draw them out."

Caught out.

Jack glares back. It might not be a once-in-a-lifetime event, this here between them, but there's no telling when it might happen again. He has no idea why it's happening _now_.

The Doctor's glare falters. "Jack." Almost gently, now. "I said there's no need."

It's reassurance, and promise, and a pledge. Something inside Jack is pulling impossibly tight. There's no doubting the Doctor is perfectly sincere.

As far as it goes.

And this is what it's always like, with the Doctor. He can never just say what he means, can he? He'll always leave you guessing.

But strangely, despite everything, Jack is perfectly all right with that.

~*~

Jack's finger presses against the Doctor's opening. "So," he asks conversationally, "do Time Lords have a prostate?"

The Doctor's eyes are wide and dark and hungry. "Not ... exactly," he says, his voice husky. And before Jack can react to that, "Don't let that stop you. Really, _really_ don't let that stop you."

Sounds ... interesting, to say the least. For a moment, Jack's brain throws up a whole bunch of increasingly-ridiculous possibilities. His face must show some of that, because the Doctor huffs a laugh and appends, "Anatomy lessons later, Jack. Come on." It almost sounds like a whine; it's probably as close as the Doctor will get.

And who is Jack to deny the Doctor?

The Doctor's body is cool inside - not unpleasantly so, but markedly different from a human's heat. And he nearly lifts off the bed when Jack's fingers find twin bumps inside him.

A brief, gasped explanation: Time Lord biology, it turns out, really has a thing for redundancy. The Doctor has secondary internal testes, and they're amazingly sensitive.

Jack takes his time exploring this new territory thorougly, not-entirely-incidentally driving the Doctor completely crazy in the process. There's no urge to run now, no nervous energy sizzling just under the skin. All there is is complete, reckless abandon and a driving, insatiable need for _more_.

For all that the Doctor likes to throw himself into new situations with verve, he's always a thing apart, not quite belonging anywhere, not of any time or place. But not now: For once, the Doctor is completely in the here and now, grounded by Jack's fingers, Jack's mouth.

It's a heady experience. Jack can't stop.

He feels his own arousal rise, but sets it aside, focusing completely on his partner.

As the Doctor shivers through his orgasm, Jack can't stop staring.

"What?" the Doctor asks just a few moments later. The tone is amused and slightly breathless.

Jack tilts his head, grins widely. "Knew there had to be _something_ that's different between our species."

"Were you expecting a penis bone? Petals? Tentacles?" The skin is crinkling around the Doctor's eyes.

"Nah," Jack drawls. "I should be so lucky."

The Doctor snorts. "All the differences are internal, I'm afraid. So sorry to disappoint."

Deceptive appearances, power deferred, an utterly human-looking body hiding unexpected surprises and pleasures for Jack to discover - it's the furthest thing from disappointment. Incredibly arousing, in fact. And it suits the Doctor. The juxtaposition is very much _him_.

Jack shimmies up the Doctor's body and kisses him thoroughly, pushing his own erection against the Doctor's leg. "That feel disappointed?" he asks and winks outrageously.

Then he gasps for air as the Doctor's hand sneaks between their bodies, wraps around his cock.

"Nope." The Doctor smirks. "Let's see if we can keep you that way."

~*~

Afterwards, they don't doze off. They merely lie there, bonelessly relaxed, for a little while. The Doctor is sprawled out on top of Jack, a cool and comfortable weight.

After a while, Jack feels the Doctor's muscles tense. The Doctor's hand, spread out calmly on Jack's chest a moment ago, clenches into a fist.

Jack almost sighs. _Here goes nothing_, he thinks. He doesn't say it, though. Doesn't say anything at all.

The Doctor raises himself onto his elbows, looks down at Jack with an unreadable expression.

He's leaving.

Jack smiles at him, runs a hand over his shoulder. Tries to relax. He has a promise, after all.

The Doctor is leaving, and Jack might see him again tomorrow or in a thousand years. With him, who knows? And that's all right.

Jack's not as good at it as he used to be, living each moment on its own - 140 years of waiting for answers will do that to you. He's trying, though.

The Doctor pokes him in the chest with a pointy finger. "Stop it!"

Jack blinks in surprise, then smirks. "I wasn't even saying hello."

A scowl. "My point exactly."

That's how he wants it, is it? Jack bats his eyelashes at the Doctor. "In a hurry to get somewhere, Doctor? We're not even a tenth of the way through my list."

The Doctor grimaces. He's looking at some spot above Jack's head now as if it were an exciting new alien species. "I'm not ..." He shakes his head in irrtation. "I don't do this lightly, you know," he offers, wrapping his lips around the words as if they were distasteful.

Jack manages to sit up without throwing the Doctor off the bed. "I know that," he replies carefully.

The Doctor disentangles himself from Jack. He bares his teeth, and when he speaks again it's almost in a snarl. "But that's not enough for you, is it? Humans. Always wanting, wanting so much. It's never good enough. Can't give you what you want, can't be what you need, but oh, suggest the reverse and ..."

Jack shuts up the tirade by the simple expedient of clamping a hand over the Doctor's mouth. The Doctor glares at him, viciously.

"You don't get to make that argument with me," Jack says, his voice tight. "You know better, so just ... don't. I never asked you for anything. You're the one who came to me, although I'll be damned if I know why."

There it is: the crux of it all.

And with that admittance, the fight goes out of him. He lets go of the Doctor and tries to control his breathing.

"You know." The Doctor's voice is every bit as tight as his own. "You know enough."

And then he's up, off the bed, rifling through their discarded clothing with furious speed, getting dressed. Jack watches and commits the sight to memory.

"Doctor," he says eventually, with a sigh. "You burst right back into my life, show me just how much you don't mind - great method of persuasion, by the way, no complaints there -, tell me I have an open invitation, take me up on _this_ ..." He gestures between them. "And it's marvellous. Don't get me wrong, it's absolutely wonderful. But I'd be lying if I said I had any idea why." He smiles, and if it comes out a little rueful, well, that's only to be expected. Even the Doctor can't be surprised.

The Doctor turns on his heel, stares at him. A wild image: his hair's sticking up even more than usual; he's wearing boxers and a t-shirt and one sock, and it's the bittersweetest thing Jack has ever seen.

"I don't need to know," Jack continues. "I'm good with that. But don't pretend I know the rules here, because I'm flying blind."

The Doctor keeps staring for a long moment. Then, improbably, he ducks his head. Jack can practically feel the tension under his skin, even from the distance, can see his eyes still straying towards the ladder. He's itching to get away.

He doesn't.

He takes the few steps back to Jack's bed, drops himself right in Jack's lap, rubs himself against Jack like a cat, nuzzles into the crook of his neck.

What - oh.

Sublimating his flight reflex into sex. Jack can agree with that.

He slides his fingers into the Doctor's hair, pulls him close, into a fierce kiss.

~*~

"So, Jack. When do you need me out of here?" the Doctor asks, much later.

For a moment Jack's heart clenches. When has the Doctor ever not taken his welcome for granted? When has the timing of his leaving ever been someone else's choice?

"Not until noon," he replies quietly, and if his voice is a little thick, who can blame him?

"Mmm," the Doctor mumbles and stretches lazily against Jack. "No rush then."

Just for the moment, he doesn't seem even tempted to run.


End file.
